


O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done

by 6newfriends



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, I will figure out how to do tags soon, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Mystery penpal, Neil Perry (Dead Poets Society) Lives, Slow Burn, literary lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6newfriends/pseuds/6newfriends
Summary: Neil Perry has no clue who he is. Whoever he was before died—dead the moment Neil realised that he wanted more than what his father had in store for him.Welton used to be fun. Neil used to be close to his friends—but now it feels like he’s just playing another character.That is until he meets a mystery someone who might actually understand him. Someone who thinks like he does. But their communication is purely on secret notes hidden around the school.Will they finally be able to confront each other before it’s too late? Will someone discover their secret. Or, maybe, just maybe, will a romance blossom?
Relationships: Todd Anderson/Neil Perry
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	1. An Old Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi~ just want to put in the initial disclaimer that I am not a privileged, rich, white boy who went to a prep school in Vermont in 1959. Hell, I’m not even American. So I’m sorry if I do get some things wrong. 
> 
> Also, if there is any content that you thing warrants the need for trigger warnings please comment. I’ll do my best to provide them when I need to, but I honestly have no clue if I’m doing them properly or nor.

~Neil’s POV~ 

Watching all the cars drive in on the first day of school was a tradition Neil had kept up from his first year at Welton. It had been fun; seeing the gleaming automobiles, future friends piling into the front entrance, fretting parents running around socialising. 

This year, not so fun. All these goodbyes and new beginnings felt so futile, so practiced and insincere. A sickening prelude to a cold and ruthless school year. 

The ironic thing was that he had always used to love the beginning of school-Welton in particular. 

School was supposed to be an escape. 

Here, Neil had friends. Here, he wasn’t a complete failure. And sometimes, in rare moments between laughs and congratulatory pats on the back, he could think that he was a half-good person. Someone that people could love, someone worth living to be. 

That was rare. 

But for some reason, something probably caused—like most of his problems—by another deeply wrong thing inside of himself, he couldn’t bring himself to be excited for the new year.

Welton wasn’t an escape anymore, his holiday away from his parents. There were exams and assignments weekly now, daily almost, stakes so high that he couldn’t see the sky anymore. 

The hall smelled musty, and dead. The photos, the names of the walls. Ghosts occupying the seats, their memories thinned and gone. They were once like Neil too—young. 

Why couldn’t he just accept that he wasn’t special? Nothing and no one was going to save, he was stuck— 

“I—I’m s-sorry.” Someone had walked into him, interrupting him mid-internal soliloquy. 

“It’s fine,” Neil turned, bearing his best smile to find himself face-to-face an unfamiliar student. Was this the new kid? 

He certainly looked too pure to be stuck in the same hell hole as himself, with his ruffled dirty blonde hair and clean blue eyes. Maybe Neil should’ve introduce himself, saved the boy before he got wrapped into one of those more intimidating groups at school; the hardcore rowers, the posh bigots, and whatnot. 

But before Neil could do anything, the boy had turned and left. Neil would have been offended if he hadn’t seemed so flustered. 

… 

Oh god. Charlie and Neil’s father were talking to each other. That could only be trouble. 

Neil rushed up beside Charlie, patting him on the back. 

“Good afternoon, father.” 

“Neil,” Mr Perry curtly responded. His face was emotionless as ever. How could Neil read that? Had Charlie messed up yet? 

Neil turned to Charlie, questioning him as discreetly as he could with eyes. 

Charlie broke out into an easy smile. 

“Mr Perry and I were just having an interesting conversation on future job prospects. I was just telling him how I would probably follow in my father’s footsteps, banker of some sort.” 

“See, Neil,” his father said. “This is a man with a promising future. You see what vision and good goals can do for you, just look at his family.”

Thank the heavens that his father liked rich people. 

“I must leave now, you boys behave yourselves.” 

He stalked off, his little person growing smaller and smaller in the crowd. It was funny to think how much power the man had over him. 

“New year Neil!” Charlie slapped him on the back. “Prepared to be this year’s poster boy, again?” 

Neil laughed, “Y’know it.” He grinned, but internally—internally, he was cringing. Was that really what his best friend thought of him, the poster boy? 

“I’ve got so much tell you—you should have seen the number of girls I was getting this summer.”

“Really?” Neil quirked his eyebrow. 

“Look, I know you’ve never talked to a girl below the age of 40. But they’re—they’re something.” 

“What’s this talk of girls?” Meeks had come up behind him. 

“Charlie’s apparently a complete lady’s man,” Neil nodded. 

“Hm, I can see people being attracted to you,” Meeks said, adjusting his glasses comically. 

“Are you hitting on me, man?” Charlie joked. 

That’s weird—Neil thought. 

“You’re not homo or something?” Charlie punched Meeks shoulder, and turned to Neil for some smile in response. 

But Neil had paled, and was stuck to floor. 

Why was that joke making him feel so sick? Maybe he had forgotten how to banter over the summer. It was strange, he didn’t know how to respond to Charlie. All his words were stuck in his throat. 

“Aw, poor Neil-y’s got his head in the clouds again. Wasn’t even listening to me,” Charlie laughed, and with that one comment everything was back to normal again. 

Neil smiled. This was why he loved Charlie. He was so normal and happy that it made Neil feel like he could be too. 

Hopefully this year he would be his roommate. That could save Neil for himself. Maybe then he would have some hope to get to the end of the year alive— 

Nope. 

His hopes quickly died as the friends reached the infamous roommate list stuck up on the wall. 

It was hard to not resent someone who was stealing your best friend’s spot. Even if they weren’t doing it consciously. 

And this Todd Anderson guy—he was going to deserve everything coming for him. 

... 

Or maybe not. 

Ok, so Todd ended up being the blonde-haired, puppy-eyed new guy. He looked so soft, how could Neil hate him. 

Why couldn’t this guy be more dislike-able? It would have made Neil’s life so much easier. 

But Todd looked so scared as he first introduced himself; maybe even more scared than Neil felt deep down. This wasn’t a guy to hold a vendetta against. 

“So, Todd—what are your first thoughts on Hellton?” he said, sitting on his bed as Todd was leaned over his desk. 

It was that time after everyone (Charlie, Knox, that lot) had left to organise their own rooms, and the boys had about 15 minutes of quiet before mealtime. 

Neil should have probably spent that time coming up with conversation topics to talk about with his friends later on. Mentally prepare himself to be extrovert Perry. Something productive. 

But he couldn’t help but to speak to Todd. 

“I, uh,” Todd stuttered. 

“It’s ok, I won’t judge you. To be honest, my first reaction to this place was pretty embarrassing. I had thought it was so cool and fancy,” Neil finished his sentence to see Todd frozen with pen in hand. 

Had Neil said too much? Was this the right way to speak to Todd? Oh god—he knew nothing about this guy. Why had he gone at the angle—had he sounded poor calling it fancy? 

“It is pretty fancy.” 

Neil grinned—he had finally gotten a full sentence out of Todd!

“Y’know,” Todd said, almost looking at Neil but shyly avoiding his eyes. “You could almost romanticise being a pupil here, all the old red buildings. I could imagine literary geniuses in their youth running around the corridors.” 

“I like the way you think—“

“TIME TO EAT BOYS!” Charlie barged through the door, interrupting their conversation. 

Todd immediately returned to his prior position turned away from Neil. Neil, on the other hand, jumped up to greet Charlie with a dimpled grin. 

“So, tell me more about these girls,” Neil said as he and Charlie made their way to the meal hall. 

Todd trailed behind them. 

... 

Quickly brushing his teeth, and showering with the speed of an Olympian, Neil was able to find small time to escape from his friends. A small break for himself, strolling the corridors. 

By then he had walked far enough that he could hardly hear the others’ voices, just the sweet coo of the country air rushing in from the gaps under almost-closed windows. 

Neil chose to sit down in front of his old Chemistry class, leaning against the cold wall. He could feel it through his thin pyjama top, pushing chilling pinpricks into his back. 

Five minutes, he told himself. Five minutes to yourself, and then you have to get back to the others. 

It was then when he saw something white sneakily hidden under the wooden bag rack. Hadn’t they done a deep clean of the school during the summer? 

Neil leapt to grab the note and opened it up with his frozen fingers. 

‘To discoverer of this note, 

I promise, it’s destiny that you’re reading this…’ 

What on earth was this?


	2. First Day — Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia, breakfast, and new beginnings.

Neil lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. How long had he been in the position, unable to sleep? 

He didn’t know—too scared to even check his watch. 

He had gone through the normal rituals; screwing his eye shut, breathing in out 5 seconds at a time. But he still felt as awake as ever.

The buzzing silence mocked him. So did Todd’s back across the room, half-illuminated by the pale moonlight. When had his roommate fallen asleep? 

It could have been hours ago. 

Why couldn’t Neil’s body understand that he had his first day tomorrow? That he couldn’t manage falling asleep in class—that it was hard enough being himself already without being tired. 

It made him so frustrated that his head hurt. A pounding, self-caused migraine consuming him. 

But more than anything, his head was itching to do something about the note. The note he had found last night. 

He had to do something, right? It was fate that he had found it, seemed a shame to waste it. 

But maybe it was a joke, some huge prank. What would he do then—if someone had placed it there looking for a target to make fun of. But, no one would go to such lengths just to do that, right? 

He opened up the note again and read it to himself, over and over so as to wear out his eyes. 

‘To the discoverer of this note, 

I promise, it’s destiny that you’re reading this. First day’s been rough, hasn’t it? Almost unbearable. And it feels like you brought all this suffering on yourself. 

Do you like to feel pain? I do. It makes me feel alive. 

But you shouldn’t. You’re above that, you have people who care about you. People to please. Just be like those who have come before you, it’s been done before. 

A few more years. Just one lifetime. It’s not too long, is it? 

Yours sincerely, Welton Academy’s Speaking Walls’ 

It felt so obviously like a joke that Neil should have just chucked it in the bin as soon as he saw it. 

But—as juvenile and over-dramatic the words may have seemed—they spoke to him. He couldn’t just let go of this feeling of connection. He had hungered for it for so long. 

Screw it. 

Neil carefully made his way out of bed, and got out a fresh piece of paper from his desk set. Grabbing a pen, he scratched a small message in big block letters. He read it over and over, checking the language and handwriting so that no one could trace it back to him. 

He hid the two notes in his pile of socks, and returned to bed, thinking—how on earth will get back to place this? 

... 

He woke to someone shaking him. 

“Neil! Neil!” 

It was Charlie. Neil sat up in bed to face him. 

“What?” he said tiredly. 

“You and Todd forget to set your alarm clocks, didn’t you? You’re going to be late for breakfast.”

“Oh shoot,” Neil jumped out of bed. The floor was icy cold against his bare feet. 

“It’s alright, I’ll tell them that you’re coming. But you know how uptight they can be about first breakfast.”

“Thanks Charlie!” Neil yelled as Charlie rushed down the corridor. 

“Shoot, shoot.”

Todd was still sleeping. Neil went over, and gently shook him. 

The boy simply rolled over. He was still asleep. 

“Todd!” 

The boy woke up instantaneously. He looked hazily around the room, before making eye contact with Neil. 

“Get dressed, we’re going to be late for breakfast!” 

Five minutes later they were running side by side to the meal hall. 

When they entered, everyone was already standing up behind their plates. They squeezed themselves into Charlie’s table. He had saved two places for them, although probably didn’t have enough time to get them food; both plates were bare. 

They soon sat down. Neil’s stomach groaned, but there was no time to get anything. 

“Hey Charlie, could I have some of your toast?” he asked, and then continued to inquire around the table until he had about what added up to one piece of toast, 5 mushrooms, a serving of scrambled eggs (because Pitts didn’t like them), and one and a half sausage. 

He was about to dig in when he noticed Todd staring timidly at his still-empty plate in front of him. 

“Want to share?” Neil asked, clearly surprising Todd. 

“Are you sure?” Todd whispered back. 

Neil nodded kindly. 

“Thank you.” 

Todd ended up having a bigger appetite than you’d expect from someone so quiet (although Neil supposed there was no actual link between being shy and eating small portions). 

So by the end of it, Neil only really had a 1/4 of his 3/4 of a proper meal. But he didn’t mind; for once he felt like he had been genuinely helpful. 

... 

Getting away after breakfast, running to his socks, and sneaking back to his old Chemistry class, Neil was able to hide his new note where he had found the other the night before. 

Teeming with excitement (from the note more than any of his classes), he made his way to period 1. Maybe it was all the endorphins from running, but he felt like he was actually going to get through this year. 

Neil Perry was back. And this year, he was going to be the greatest student Welton has ever seen. So perfect that his father would have to love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if you found the first note a bit cringe. I just had no idea where to get started, but I think maybe the ~mysterious note-leaver~ would have felt that too. They’ll get better, once they start a proper correspondence. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for making it this far.


	3. First Day — Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books to the face, Latin and Chem—the perfect beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi~ 
> 
> So this chapter is less in Neil’s head, and more explores a few of the other dead poets. Honestly, I’m completely in love with the Charlie and Meeks duo-friendship (as you probably can tell). They should really leave Welton and start careers in stand up comedy. 
> 
> Anyway, I have a feeling that this fic may get a bit longish~ I just really want to enjoy spending my time exploring their lives… so sorry if it feels a bit slow at first, I’m working on building that tension. 
> 
> Oh and also (this note’s a bit long, isn’t it?) sorry if the class schedule doesn’t match up with what happened in the movie. I’m trying to stay accurate, but I thought it was a small detail I could smudge.

Sliding into the crowd around his Latin class, Neil made his way behind to where Charlie and Meeks were standing. 

Charlie—because of course he was—was struggling under the weight of about 20 textbooks which he carried on his arms like a forklift; balancing them carefully as they came close to touching the ceiling. 

“What’s this?” Neil said, baffled; although, he knew that he shouldn’t be surprised to see Charlie getting up to such shenanigans—it was Charlie after all. 

Meeks smiled from beside him. “Competition with Norman to see who could hold the most books.” 

“I won,” Charlie bragged proudly. 

The morning light streamed in from the upper window to hit his pearly white teeth. His grin glowed with perfect, youthful joy.

“—but now he can’t figure out how to put them down,” Meeks chimed, shaking his head with sarcastic disappointment. 

“What about squatting and putting them down?” Neil suggested. 

Charlie shook his head. “Can’t, I’ll rip my pants.” 

“And we can’t just take one out because no one can reach the top ones, and, otherwise, if we take some other, they’ll all topple down,” Meeks continued. 

“Took physics for that, Stevie Boy?” Charlie teased. 

Meeks leaned forward, his telltale sign of adjusting his glasses showing that he was about to fork out the greatest burn—when a large scream came from behind them. 

“CHARLIE DALTON! What on earth are you doing!” 

And Charlie turned around—and Charlie Dalton turned around much too quickly. 

They really didn’t lie when they said that horrible accidents feel like they’re happening in slow motion. 

Books flew everywhere. On the ground, around them, hitting the door. 

And looking up, Neil saw one in particular growing bigger and bigger. For a moment he was stuck wondering what was going on, when it finally hit him. Square on the nose. 

He fell backwards, landing with a thud against the room’s wooden wall. 

Instinctively, his hand reached for his nose, coming away with a sticky red substance. 

“Are you alright, Mr Perry?” Dr Patricks, Latin teacher, stood before him with half-concerned, half-annoyed-that-he-had-to-deal-with-a-student-getting-hurt look on his face. 

“Fine, sir. Absolutely fine,” Neil said, weakly getting up. His face felt like it was on fire, but at least he wasn’t wearing his glasses, right? 

When he finally got on his feet (standing took quite a long time when you were tall as he was but not used to having such long legs), Dr Patricks was already dealing with Charlie. 

“What were you doing, Mr Dalton? You understand that this could lead to possible suspension, or worse—expulsion.” 

“It’s alright,” Neil said, feeling suddenly guilty for getting his friend in trouble. If he hadn’t been standing there, too close and in the way, the book wouldn’t have hit his face and Charlie wouldn’t have been in trouble. 

“It was my fau—.” 

But Meeks stopped him, putting an arm out before Neil could reach the teacher, whose back was turned against him. 

Meeks whispered into Neil’s ear quickly, “It’s alright man. Don’t take the fall, they might send a message to your father.” 

Giving him a handkerchief, both of them instead filed into room with the rest of the class, while Charlie was left outside cleaning up his mess. 

Thankfully the nose bleed stopped after about 10 minutes of slow dripping, and it only left a small cut. It hurt when Neil put his glasses on it, but it wasn’t that bad. 

To be honest, the pain was kind of grounding. 

Charlie entered the class 15 minutes late with a dark look on his face. Neil tried to apologise to him with his eyes, but Charlie was just staring down at his desk. 

That was evidently some sort of problem. 

After class Neil tried chasing after him—but he was too slow, even too was Meeks. Without looking back, Charlie ran briskly to his next class. Music, probably. 

...

For Neil, next was Chemistry. Which was easy, of course. I mean, that was the purpose of summer school, wasn’t it? 

To be frank, it was very, very, extremely boring. He caught himself drifting in and out of class; spacing out for 15 minutes at a time before realising that he hadn’t been listening. 

Neil also found himself staring at Knox’s back—surprised to find his friend in the same class. Knox was smart, but he had always struggled with Chemistry. He must have worked hard to get to one of the upper classes.

Neil greeted Knox as they left for their next class together, English Literature. 

It was strange—all those years living together at the same school, same social circle, he never really had had a conversation with Knox. With just the two of them. 

Neil really didn’t know just how to talk him now that Charlie wasn’t there to buffer the awkward silences as they both tried to figure out a rhythm to speaking to each other. 

“Knox, you made it to the upper Chem class!” 

“‘Course I did man,” he responded coolly, with small but very proud smile. “Got a tutor.” 

“A tutor? What’s gotten you so interested all of the sudden?” 

Knox’s parents really didn’t care much for the sciences, they were lawyers after all. 

“Girl tutor,” he winked. 

“What?”

“Neil, it’s the new age. There are a lot of smart women who could teach us many things.”

“I get that,” Neil pushed, of course he got that—but if he knew one thing about Knox— 

It was that he was very, very girl crazy. 

Was it the time that he couldn’t stop talking about Meeks’ sister, who he saw briefly passing in a car, that Neil first called to mind? Or how Knox took geography because he knew that every month he could take nature walks with other teenagers—including girls—from the town? 

Neil never really got Knox’s obsession—but he knew that, for Knox, it was a dangerous road. He got very easily, and quickly, emotionally attached. 

Knox rolled his eyes. 

“Why was this also Pitts’ exact reaction when I told him?” 

Neil shrugged, finding it kind of funny picturing Pitts worrying about Knox’s girl fever. 

“Well, well. It’s what you get—“

“Hi.” Todd Anderson stood in front of their English classroom, smiling shyly their way. 

“Hi,” Neil waved back softly. 

“What’s with that?” Knox asked, staring at Neil pointedly. 

“What’s with what?” Neil looked up, confused. 

“Nothing,” Knox smirked. 

“Boys!” Charlie walked up with new found swagger, apparently completely changed from the Latin book ordeal, with Meeks and Pitts behind him. “Is this the gang united?” 

“Yes!” Knox punched the air, and they all gathered together to talk excitedly. Todd teetered on the edge, unsure to join the group or not. 

Neil looked at him sympathetically, walking up. “Want to sit down?” 

“Sure.” 

They entered the class together, putting their books down on their alphabetically assigned seats. 

Todd stared at a picture up above the blackboard. “Who’s that?” 

It was an old man with a thick grey white beard, and sharp eyes. 

Neil shrugged, “I don’t know.” 

Soon everyone else settled down in their seats, awaiting the next class to begin.


	4. First Day — Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Keating’s first class, an almost-drowning, and an overall very confusing day for Mr Neil Perry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how I can manage to have writer’s block for my Lit class, and all the inspiration for this—at the same time. But I do. Somehow. 
> 
> I apologise for any spelling and grammatical errors. I know it’s no excuse, but I do have a slight headache. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading!

The man enters, whistling, and leaves through the door. Was this the new teacher? The infamous Mr Keating. 

He looked a bit short. 

Neil’s father had been impressed with his academic record at least — even if he was irked by the idea of a successful man at a successful school deciding to be a high school English teacher of all things.

Other than that, Neil couldn’t remember anything else he had heard of the new teacher. He felt oddly underprepared for this class. Normally news about the school staff spread like wildfire; who gave out the best grades, how to suck up to them, so forth. 

And so it was with heightened interest, and caution, that he followed him, with his classmates, out the door. 

They had gathered near the trophy cabinet. Neil had never really given time to looking at it. Although he did remember once when he was 13 and Charlie had brought a ball into the room—getting dangerously close to smashing the glass, before Mr Nolan had come in and screamed at them to get out. 

The good ol’ days. 

Mr Keating stood in front of the class as everyone spied him carefully, trying to find what kind of guy he was. He looked comfortable with the attention—bathing in it like some narcissist, or actor. 

Something struck Neil then in the stance of the man — something deep and unfathomable hidden in the pits of his heart. He felt this anxious rush rise up like bile, coiling around his veins. Why did he feel everything so strongly and suddenly these days? 

It wasn’t helped by the stuffiness of the room—or the pictures. Oh god, the pictures. Parading around, screaming: hey, this is you and what all your time at Welton ever will be, some fading picture gathering dust on a wall. 

Neil steadied himself by looking around the room, taking deep breaths—Keating was talking to about something to Meeks. 

Carpe Diem, he had said. Sieze the day.

The teacher made some joke to Charlie, who rested slightly unsettled on the walls too. 

Mr Keating, with his depressing rant. What were they meant to do with it? 

The class stepped closer to the photos, with Mr Keating leaning over them strangely. Skirting his eyes off the creepy dead people—Neil caught a glance of Todd. 

It seemed like what Keating was saying was really getting—he looked all wide-eyed and inspired. 

And then all the panic seemed to fade away. 

Anchoring himself on that picture of Todd in his mind, Neil leant forward and began listening to what Keating was saying. 

Carpe Diem. 

... 

They all left the class feel something. Inspired, maybe—clearly that had been Keating’s goal. Neil found himself less sceptical of the guy now then at the beginning of his big lecture. 

Might as well be taught by someone who looks like they enjoy what they’re doing, right? 

Cameron looked half-skittish, but it seemed more like the stress and his general persona than anything. Somehow he had convinced Meeks to study with him in the library during their free period. And of course, where Meeks went Pitts followed. 

Through class Charlie had kept throwing him apologetic looks, to the point it was creepy. Knox must have noticed, because he had taken Charlie away to check out the sign-up sheet for clubs. Even though they already knew what they were doing this year. 

It was this whirlwind coming and going that Neil himself somehow ended up finding himself with Todd—and only Todd. They sat together next to the lake; saying nothing. 

It was pleasant; the pressure not to say anything. Although it was kind of concerning, or at least weird that everyone had left him like that.

Was it just growing up? This new acute independence they had, not to be a tight bundle of 6 at all times. 

Or did they know—like he had only just learnt to understand, that Neil Perry now was nothing like the Neil they had been friends with. Not as fun, or funny. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“What?” Neil turned to Todd who was sitting cross-legged beside him on the grass, book in lap. 

Todd shrugged—and then looked back down at his book. “Sorry, you just looked so—“

He paused. 

“I looked so what?” Neil questioned. 

The boy remained silent.

“Tell me Anderson!” Neil leapt up, shaking Todd’s shoulders vigorously.

“I-,” he seemed on the verge of saying something, but then he skipped to a different topic. “What’s wrong with your nose?”

“My nose?” Neil laughed, looking the side. “You’re really asking me about my nose.” 

He stretched out his legs, lying down on his back to stare at the sky. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“I would actually,” Todd said adamantly. 

And Neil was on the verge of saying some made-up story when they heard some wailing coming from the lake. 

Some thrashing, really—more than a human voice. 

Neil leapt up to see that someone had fallen out of rowing scull. There was no else around. 

He told Todd to call for help, and edged closer to the lake. There was someone bobbing up and down, face down, in the water—unmoving. 

Kicking off his shoes and rolling up as much of his trousers as he could, Neil waded into the water. 

The water was up to hips by the time he reached the body.

The boat floated next to them.

Neil grabbed the boy and lugged him on top of the scull. He was unconscious, but clearly still alive. 

Good—Neil thought, before pushing the boat back to shore. 

By the time he got there, the school nurse was waiting and so too was an anxious-looking Todd. 

Todd looked at him, and then down at the boat again. 

“Is that Cameron?”

...

Neil and Todd spent their next class in Mr Nolan’s office, explaining what happened in tedious detail. 

Neil had sat stiffly in the seat—wet pants, dripping socks, and all that. Nolan hadn’t given him the time to get change. 

But he seemed more desperate than mad. Strangle, he was acting as though he was interrogating them — which was making Todd especially frightened. His hair stuck up like a porcupine. 

Neil was fine with it really, Nolan didn’t scare him—as long as he didn’t call his father. 

But in the end, they were let go. Of, course, there was nothing to keep them for. 

“Strange,” Neil said as Todd closed the door to their room behind them. 

There was 10 minutes left until the official end class (the one they hadn’t attended), 10 minutes of blissful quiet before everyone would come flooding in. 

“Y’know—“

“I’ve got to go,” Todd said abruptly, awkwardly. 

“That’s fine, Todd,” Neil smiled to comfort him. Perhaps Neil was still a bit on edge from almost seeing someone drown, and then being sent to Scary Nolan’s office. 

Todd left, and Neil got to starting his Chemistry homework. It was so easy; all revision from the previous year. He raced through a good chunk of it in 7 minutes. His hand burned, but he was almost impressed by himself. He pressed onwards to Latin—

But soon he was so tired he could barely think straight. He gave up, putting his pen down.

He threw himself into bed, and was sleeping away like a brick in no time. 

...

When Neil awoke, it was pitch black outside. So dark, that he almost forgot where he was until he heard Todd’s loud snoring from the other side of the room. 

Oh—he was at Welton. 

Why hadn’t anyone awoken him for dinner? 

He checked the clock. It was 1 am. He must’ve fallen asleep at 3. That would’ve meant that he was asleep for a whole—

A whole 10 hours. 

He felt awake. Too awake. 

And then he remembered. The note. The chemistry classroom. His heart quickened, his brain alert with the urge to do something. 

He slipped out of bed. His leather shoes hit the floor with a resounding thunk. 

God, he was still in his uniform. 

He felt around the edge of the bed, guiding himself to his desk. Carefully, and quietly, he pulled out the draw and fished out his torch. 

Deciding then that walking around with leather shoes was too loud, he slipped them off, opened the door and entered the sleeping corridor. 

The torch lit the wood with an artificial glow. An owl hooted in the distance. 

Was he officially nocturnal now? 

He made his way around the school, even passing through the trophy room where Keating had made his speech—just because he could. 

He regretted it instantly though, the photos looked creepier in the dark. 

At last he got to the chemistry classroom, and—as he thanked Welton’s no-gum policy, felt around where he had left his letter. 

What had he written? Neil couldn’t even remember. 

Finally he felt paper—paper different from his at that, with a coarser grain (his hindered lack of sight sharpened his other senses). 

He went to read it when he heard a large honk from outside. 

What was it with him and being interrupted by large sounds? 

He slunk to the ground, keeping a curious eye on the going-ons outside. 

It was Mr Keating, books under his arm. He looked tired, trudging to school. 

Neil watched him with great interest as the teacher walked further and further away, when suddenly the man turned around. He looked up, and then directly at Neil. 

Shoot. He had been seen. 

Neil ducked lower, to the point he knew he couldn’t be seen, and waited for a good five minutes. Stressing. 

Surely Mr Keating hadn’t actually seen him. Jesus Christ, if he had, was he going to be in trouble. 

Neil tiptoed back to his room. 

By that point, he had almost forgotten about the letter. It was scrunched in his tight fist, pencil smudged by his sweat. 

Ducking under the covers, he read it with his torch. Word by word. Line by line. 

‘Welton has a always been a place shrouded by mystery, and strange folklore. Any institution with such prestige—such success—experiences the same phenomenon. 

But fuck—even with all that talk, you never expect someone to reply to a note you stick to the wall so quickly.

So hi, stranger. How do you do? 

Please know, you have indeed succeeded in creeping me out. 

But also, and I don’t say this often, I’m quite impressed. Your speed, your lack of fear. 

How quickly you found it—how did you find it, by the way? No one should have been here—this chemistry classroom is only used for the second half of the year. 

This hallway is deserted for the rest of the time—I know that as a fact. My brother had told me about it. How Welton was so rich that they left half of it empty so that classes could relocate when the students got bored of the scenery. 

Anyway, I would have never responded to me. 

So please tell me, young god, how do you do it. 

Yours truly, wall person.’ 

Neil fetched a pen out his blazer. He could use the back of the page, right? 

‘Dear Wall Person, 

You wouldn’t think it that impressive if you knew how I first came across the note. 

Anyway, it’s you with the guts to stick some random message up on a wall for no reason whatsoever. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it seems all romantic and poetic—but it’s still not a normal thing to do. 

If you didn’t want someone to find the note, then why did you put it up in the first place? Tell me, I’m intrigued. 

And the thing about the school changing classrooms—it’s only a new thing. They say it’s better for our learning, because of how the classes differently insulate the weather during different seasons. 

But everyone knows it’s because of them tripling the tuition a decade or so ago, and losing half the number of students. It wasn’t always boarders. My dad himself was a day only student. 

You have a brother, you say. Well that’s vague hint to your true identity. No, don’t tell me—I want to figure out. 

That rules out Dalton, at least. He would have been on the top of my list of people strange enough to do this. 

I’m running out space. 

Love, the insomniac.’ 

Neil tucked the note into his blazer. 

He wasn’t go sleep that night, was he? It figured as such. 

His Latin book was still on his desk from where he had left it that past afternoon. He began reading it, memorising verbs and revising cases until well past sunrise.


	5. In Sickness and In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Neil’s changed demeanour and midday dip start to come back to bite him. Also Meeks says something about Cameron which is a tad confusing.

Neil had been studying in silence and birdsong alone for so long, he might have overreacted when Todd finally awoke. 

“Todd! You’re awake!” he exclaimed. 

Todd muffled a good morning, rubbing his eyes, before looking at Neil properly. His face fell. 

“What?” Neil asked. “What’s with the long face.” 

“Neil,” Todd mumbled, stumbling over his morning voice. “You look terrible.” 

“Thanks.” 

“No, seriously,” Todd waved a hand. 

“How?”

“Well, I-I ahh,” he stuttered. 

“C’mon Todd, you have to tell me now. It would be rude not to.” 

Todd looked Neil straight in the eye. “Fine,” he sighed. “You have huge bags under you eyes. Bruise on your nose, look kinda too pale. And that’s not to mention your uniform.” 

“What of it?”

“You clearly slept in it last night.”

“I couldn’t have slept in it last night—if I didn’t sleep last night.” 

“Jesus, Neil.” He rolled over, burying his head in his pillow. “You’re such an idiot.” 

There was a tentative knock on the door. 

Ignoring Todd, Neil walked up to open the door. It was Meeks. 

He looked up at Neil. “What happened to you?”

“No one’s giving me a break.” 

Meeks looked at Neil sympathetically, in his Meeks way. 

“So?” Neil asked. “Why are you here?” 

“Oh—yeah. It’s about the Cameron thing yesterday,” he said quietly, looking around to make sure no one else could hear him. “Just don’t tell the others about it. I’ll explain it later.” 

“Okay.” 

Someone called Meeks’ name in the distance. It was probably Pitts. 

The redhead nodded a goodbye Neil and left. 

“That way strange,” Neil said, as Todd climbed out of bed. 

“Yeah,” he responded softly, rubbing his head. “I think I’m going to go brush my teeth. See you at breakfast.” He left the room.

Breakfast—when was the last time Neil had a proper meal. He didn’t have dinner last night, he couldn’t even remember having lunch the day prior. 

... 

Half starved, Neil ravenously attacked his plate—vacuuming it up and swallowing before he could begin to register what is was. He was done in a matter of seconds; that must have been some sort of a record. 

“Do you think they have seconds?” he asked, looking up at his friends. 

It was then when he realised that they had all been staring at him.

“What?”

“Neil,” Meeks began. “We’re all worried about you.” 

“Yeah,” Charlie seconded him. “You sleep through the afternoon, come to breakfast looking like you just crawled out of a cave. We’re starting to think that you’re a vampire.” 

“I slept for 10 hours, thank you very much,” Neil said, grabbing an unclaimed piece of toast from the middle of the table. 

Meeks scoffed, “That means you woke up at 2.”

“You woke up at 2 am? Neil, that’s not good. My mum said that the average teenager boy should wake up at 7,” Knox spoke up.

“It’s not healthy otherwise,” Pitts said, joining in on the conversation. 

“1 actually,” Neil shrugged, half-listening to what they were saying. Instead eyes followed Mr Nolan who was making his rounds around the table. 

He came to a stop at theirs. 

Neil kept his head down to not be seen in such a state, but Mr Nolan didn’t seem to notice him at all. In actuality, he completely ignored Mr Perry—despite seeing his dark circles and alarming purple on his nose—and approached Cameron. 

He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, ordering him to stand up and leave with him. 

...

Cameron didn’t come back for Biology. The teacher had assigned them to be partners for the student experiment. And so Neil had spent the class sitting alone, modifying the experiment and beginning preparations. 

Since he was most productive, the teacher let him out 5 minutes earlier than the end of class. He needed it.

He walked the length of the corridor to his next class, English, whilst leaning and trailing his hand against the wall. At times he paused to hold his head—a headache baring unfathomable pain down upon him. 

Finally, he came upon his desk in class. He sunk into it, breathing in the few precious moments of peace. 

“Mr Perry!” 

God—that man was bad with subtlety. 

Mr Keating approached him, putting a hand down on his desk. “My fellow insomniac.” 

Neil looked up, “I’m not in trouble, am I? Because sir, I can explain myself—.” 

“No, Neil,” Keating laughed amiably. “It’s fine. We are one in the same. Here,”—he passed a small tin box—“they’ll help you sleep, and with the headaches.” 

Neil stared at them silently, sliding open the container to see a dozen white pills. 

“They’re completely legal, my boy! Don’t worry, something you can get from the corner store.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Mr Keating smiled. He walked to the head of the classroom. 

Neil placed one on his tongue, swallowing. He watched dazedly as his classmates began to file in, but for once he felt like he was getting better. 

The rest of day passed in a haze. Not a bad haze though, a more of a relaxed Neil taking centre stage while his usually loud thoughts went to rest. 

He noted that his Chemistry teacher liked him; was always calling upon him first in class. That was good, if he topped Chemistry that year, his father would probably relax with the whole summer school thing. 

He just had to make sure he was doing alright with everything else. Which seemed to be on track until he got to history. 

History class had been fine in the lower years—interesting, even. But now the teachers were less interested in broadening their world understanding and scope of knowledge than their ability to analyse sources and write ‘in-depth’ responses. 

And of course that analysis had to be exactly in line with what the teacher believed. You were only allowed to perceive something the way they saw it. 

Everyone else seemed to be getting it—but Neil couldn’t naturally think like that. Not anymore. He was terrified to put his hand, just in case his idea would be deemed inappropriate or idiotic. 

The class went on for half an hour like that, analysing this old Renaissance painting, before the teacher had given them the task to write two paragraphs analysing certain aspects of it. 

His pen shook in his hand—Neil couldn’t come up with the words. His brain, it was a rock. 

“Mr Perry,” Mr Hager had been walking around the classroom as the boys worked. “I’d like to see you on task.” 

“Yes, sir,” Neil nodded. What was he going to do? 

He could barely piece together a proper sentence in his mind. Nothing was coming to him. And even if it did, which it wouldn’t, he wouldn’t even be able to articulate it. 

How did English grammar work again? Damn. Damn. 

There were 5 minutes left of class. 5 minutes. 

Unable to think of anything else, Neil attacked the task with a new plan. He would write in gibberish in such bad handwriting that Hager would not be able to decipher it. 

His pen raced along the page, ink smearing against his palm. 

The final school bell chimed in the distance. 

“And that’s the end of class boys,” Mr Hager said, standing at the doorway. “You can’t leave without passing me your completed assignment.” 

Neil stood up carefully, gathering his stuff in an awkward pile. 

He followed Todd out of the class, handing his paper to Hager as quickly as possible. 

He attempted smiling at Todd, but his face seemed to have stopped working. Instead, bitter tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Are you ok?” Todd queried softly.

“I,” Neil shook his head, working hard to control his heavy breathing. “I don’t think so.” 

Todd looked at him with heartbreaking sympathy in his eyes. 

“Let’s go to our room.” 

Neil nodded in agreement. 

...

Neil sat down on his bed, curling his fingers around the wooden frame. Todd sat beside him. 

And it was Todd who started the conversation. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Wrong?” Neil laughed half-heartedly. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

Todd sighed, sounding half annoyed. “Sure, you say that. You’re going to keep on saying that. But if things were fine, you wouldn’t be wearing the same clothes from yesterday.” 

Neil sat there pensively, looking for some sane explanation—but before he could even articulate a response, his mind jumped to a new thought. 

“Y’know, you’ve grown much more talkative. I swear you were so quiet. But what, we’ve been roommates for two days—and we, well it seems like we’ve known each other forever. How does that happen?” 

Todd looked slightly taken aback. “Don’t change the subject, Neil. You’re not well.” 

“I—.” 

“And anyway,” Todd continued. “I know a lot more about you than you think.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Guys—“ this time it was Meeks who came barging in, interrupting their conversation. Oblivious of what he walked into, he shut the door curtly behind himself and drew out Neil’s chair to the middle of the room. 

He leant against it. 

“I need to tell you something.” 

“I assume so,” Neil joked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Meeks said, adjusting his glasses. “It’s about the Cameron thing.” 

“Oh yeah, he almost drowned, didn’t he?” 

“Yeah, kind of. Well,” he paused, taking a breath. “It was kind of Pitts and I who pressured him into it,”—he looked at them guiltily—“I think, well, his lack of physical ability has always been his number insecurity, right?” 

“Right,” Neil repeated. 

“And so, after Keating’s huge speech, he felt like fixing that. Go in a scull. It scared him shitless, but he wouldn’t stop talking about it.” 

“Pitts and I, we wanted to get our physics homework done. So we told him to do it, took him there. And I think he fainted when he was on there.” 

“Is he okay now?” Neil asked. 

“Yes.” 

Meeks left quickly after that, leaving Neil and Todd slightly stunned and confused by the information. Having been there felt like they had intruded into some story of its own that they weren’t meant to be apart of. 

They didn’t do much talking that night either, with Todd scurrying off to hit the showers earlier. 

But on the upside of that night, Neil was able to sleep normally. It took just about 10 minutes to get there—

So he wasn’t really upset when he awoke at 4, it gave him just enough time to sneak off and replace the new note, and return to his bed afterwards. 

... 

He awoke with a headache. A terrible, pounding, can’t see straight headache. 

“Todd, I think I’m sick.” 

“It was the lake, wasn’t it?” a small voice came from near him. “Mr Nolan didn’t give you the time to get changed, you were in your damp clothing for so long.” 

“Probably,” Neil sighed. He pulled his blanket up to cover his face. Todd laughed. 

“You’re not laughing at me, are you?” Neil queried, noticing then how dry his throat felt. 

“No. Ah, anyway, what do you do here when your sick?” Todd asked. 

Neil soon directed him to call a teacher, who came in to check Neil’s temperature. Sure enough, he was ill as could be. 

“I‘ll get you the work,” Todd said, before running off to his classes. Leaving Neil alone to stare up at the ceiling. 

He embarrassed the nothingness of his day with open, seeping back into his pillow. “Sweet dreams,” he thought before finally drifting away.


	6. Pushing Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sick day can be a good thing. Especially for an exhausted Neil Perry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the sporadic updates—if they are sporadic. Honestly, I have no concept of time. Anyway, enjoy!

He slept well. Really well—better than he had in weeks, even in his own bedroom at home. He couldn’t remember what he had dreamt of, but it must have been good. Even the tightness in his chest had slightly lifted. 

Charlie was sitting in Todd’s bed when Neil finally awoke. He was smoking and staring dully at his chemistry textbook. 

When Charlie saw movement from Neil, he turned to him with a smile. “I know we’re meant to remember things from previous years—but am I an idiot for forgetting what covalent bonding is?” 

“Yes, Charlie?” Neil laughed through his coarse voice. “What time is it?” 

“Dinner time,”—Charlie saw the questioning look on Neil’s face and shrugged—“it’s ok, I’ve got snacks. Anyway, someone had to be here when you woke up.” 

A bell chimed from outwards, a crystal clear sound cutting through the misty night sky. It always got so dark so quickly at Welton. 

“Neil, did you hear what I said?” Charlie snapped his fingers in front of Neil’s face. “I brought snacks!” 

“Nice,” he replied hazily as Charlie brought a plate to his bed. 

There were four bread rolls covered in butter, a handful of cookies snapped in half (apparently Charlie had gotten everyone to sacrifice a half for Neil’s good health), and an apple. 

“Well, bon appetite!” 

“Merci.” 

Charlie watched Neil eat in painstaking silence. His eyes bore into him with each bite. 

“What’s wrong?” Neil asked halfway through a bread roll. 

“I dunno,” Charlie shrugged, his eyes skirting to the edge of the bed. “Anyway, Todd put all your work on your desk, and Meeks offered to do your homework if you wanted him to.” 

“Thanks,” Neil smiled. 

“You should have seen how all the teachers cried when they realised that their favourite pupil wasn’t showing,” Charlie joked to a laugh from Neil.

“Sure, sure,” Neil laughed, happy to return to his usual banter with Charlie. 

His childhood friend kept good company, leaving only when he suddenly remembered that he had promised Knox that to meet early for study group. Fortunately, not a moment after he had stepped out the door, Todd walked in. 

At first, Todd looked as though he hadn’t realised Neil was awake—going for his notebook, or diary? Neil was pretty sure that it was a diary. 

But Todd froze as soon as he saw Neil looking at him. 

“No, go ahead,” Neil said.

Todd blushed, placing his diary back into his desk. 

“How was your day?” Neil asked. 

Todd smiled, walking towards him to take the now barren plate and slide it under his own bed. “Good. I guess. But you should be resting.” 

“Yes, mum.” 

“Mr Keating missed you in class.” 

“Really?” 

“Well, I mean he was going to do this thing—and we like needed a certain number of people. But you weren’t there so we couldn’t, and he did this like 10 minute dramatic performance of ‘oh why Neil must you be ill’.” 

“Y’know, I think I might just like him.” 

“Me too,” he nodded, and then looked to the doorway. “I think I have to go to study group.” 

“Have, fun,” Neil farewelled, falling back again his pillow. 

... 

And of course Neil woke again in the middle of night. But it wasn’t that bad. He still felt sick, sure—but that was a good thing. There was less pressure to be well rested for the next day if all he needed to do the next day was rest. 

Before it even occurred for him to close his eyes, he slipped out of bed and began waking to where he had left the note. 

After being stressed for so long, he had half-forgotten what he used to think about—just think about—for fun. It had been so boring that sick day, during the brief periods of consciousness, because he just didn’t know what to think. 

And he couldn’t read, he hadn’t had a chance to the go to the library yet. And he couldn’t study, because his head was too fogged up to do any of that properly. So all he had to do was sit and be bored. And sleep—he mostly slept.

But when he didn’t, his mind would keep coming back to the note. The itch for it. The wanting to know if it was there. 

He couldn’t go back to sleep when he knew that right then was the only chance he got to check on it. 

He was so eager that, after retrieving it, he stopped half-way to his dorm to read it, sinking back against a random classroom wall. 

‘Dearest insomniac, 

So, the insomniac thing—is night when you get these notes out? It makes sense, I didn’t know why I didn’t just assume that—but it had been bugging me about how perfect you were with timing when to come here. 

There’s only so much free time you get as a student here. I had been hoping that I run into you when I came back to put my note. 

Well, actually, maybe I was a bit more anxious that I would run into you. Needing to aactualise the fact that I’m doing this. 

And why am I doing this, you may ask—well, the thing is, it’s kind of like a diary for me. But safer, somehow. Writing’s always been an outlet, except not the formal stuff you do at school. Keeping a diary for me was good, relaxing. Until my brother found it. 

That was—not good. 

But I just, I needed to write something, the habits just that ingrained into me. So, I came up with the plan to just write these disposable messages that I could hide away in plain sight. I don’t know exactly where the idea came from, maybe a book? 

Anyway, it seemed romantic. But then you wrote back—which, my god, actually happened. 

It’s funny to see you trying to guess my identity, like I’m the cool mystery guy other than the other way around. 

Strange, you could be a teacher. I could be a teacher. Or even the janitor! But you’ll never know. 

Well, how’s school anyway, insomniac? 

Sleep well, Wall Person 

Ps. I’ll give you a hint. I own an obscene amount of sweaters.’ 

Neil smiled, reading it over and over again as he crept back to his room. He added it to the pile he had begun creating, and then decided to poke holes in their sides and thread twine through them to make it like a real book. 

He slipped it under his pillow and returned to blissful sleep. 

... 

The next day was spent studying productively through a mild headache, friends popping in to pass notes and quick jokes; Meeks coming to help with Latin, even Cameron coming to help with trig. 

And somehow, working was enjoyable. Neil could see the classes becoming easier and easier as he went through the tide of homework and already assigned essays that ate at his desk space. 

He could do this. He had this. Actually—and not to seem overly confident—it was easy. 

Todd came into the room at around six, absentmindedly joking about how many sweaters Neil had wrapped himself in as he sat hunched over his desk, before dumping himself on his bed. 

He pulled out a notebook and a pen. 

“What’s that?” Neil asked. 

Todd looked at him. “I—I, I was at the library—when Keating caught me reading John Keats. And then somehow we got into this conversation about his poetry, and how he’s basically Mr Keating’s namesake. And then he asked me to try writing out poetry of my own.” 

“An extra assignment?” 

Todd shook his head. “Well, no—it was more like he encouraged me to write poetry. But I don’t have to show him or anything.” 

Neil coughed into his arm. He cleared his throat. “You should show me.” 

Todd rolled his eyes. “I can’t show you something I haven’t written yet.” 

“Well, get to!” Neil commanded comically alike Nolan, which sent Todd into a stitch of laughter.

“Yes, sir.” 

They spent the rest of the night—skipping study group—in each other’s company, both scrawling away at their own paper. 

... 

And, fully recovered, Neil soon returned to his physical classes, falling comfortably back into his well-practiced routine. It was like a switch had been turned on. 

He could be his old self again. Exuberant, impassioned, a leader. I’m the following fortnight, he almost forgot about his first week of anguish. 

But he still kept writing to his wall person, waking up at 2 am to sneak out to the Chemistry classroom. God, it was probably the only thing keeping him sane.


	7. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letters continue and Neil discovers a little something called the ‘Dead Poets Society’.

‘Dear Wall Person—or should I say Sweater Person?

Thank you for the hint. But honestly, and you probably did this purposely, how can I tell who you are from your sweater collection! 

Well, you’re clearly not Chad Stevens (although I could probably already presume that)—the man would walk through snow without a shirt on. 

Oh no—by talking about Chad Stevens in third person, you know that I’m not Chad Stevens! Well, that really narrows it down for you, doesn’t it? How many guys are there at of our school, 300-400 maximum? 

Now you can tick one of those names off. Rest assured, I really am a student. It would be creepy if I wasn’t. And I’m assuming you’re a student too, since I can’t deal with the idea that you’re Mr Hager or some teacher pitying me and writing these. 

School’s actually getting better. These letters are helping. 

They’re probably as therapeutic to me as they are to you. And, by the way, you’re brother sounds like a douche. I would hate if someone read my diary—when I used to keep one (I grew paranoid at like 13 years of age that my dad would find them and burned each and every page in the fireplace at home)—that’s like someone crawling inside my brain and reading my thoughts without my consent. 

My favourite class right now is Chemistry, because I feel most confident in my abilities to do well in it. But I think I might be slowly turning into an English class nerd, even if my skills in writing prose and analysing texts may be slightly subpar. 

I picture you as an English nerd. 

Good night, the insomniac 

PS. Sorry for calling this letter writing thing strange. When I say strange, I mean strange in a good way.’ 

‘Dear insomniac, 

Don’t waste good paper on an apology! I don’t mind you calling this strange. It is, a bit. But in a good way ;)

I am an English nerd, how did you guess? 

I don’t know if I ever pictured you as anything before, but now I’m starting to form a blurred image. Statistically speaking, you’re probably a brunette (or brunet, to use the ugly masculine form). 

You’re an insomniac, so you probably have dark bags under your eyes. And maybe your short—because of stunted growth or something (it’s important for a growing boy to sleep!)

Going simply off how you write, I’m going to guess that you’re either my age or one year older—so 16 to 17ish. 

A short, 16/17 brunette Welton student that isn’t Chad Stevens—no, I think I’ve really narrowed it down. 

You’re right about my brother being a douche. But, I don’t know—I don’t think that he’s a bad person. He just doesn’t know what it’s like to not be him. He doesn’t have to think that way. 

Firstborn, smart, charismatic. He’s the perfect heir that my father needed for his company. God—I don’t know what he would have done if it was me inheriting it instead. At least when you’re forgotten, you’re a little more free from their scrutiny, right? 

On an unrelated note, could you tutor me in Chemistry? 

Yours, Wall Person (not sweater person. I enjoy my knitwear, but I will not be defined by it) 

Ps. I attached a Keats poem, for your enjoyment. 

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,  
The moving waters at their priestlike task  
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—  
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,  
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.’ 

‘Dear my sweater person, 

Oh to swoon to death! I love it. Send more poems, please my English nerd. 

I’ve got to keep this short. I’ve got a trig exam tomorrow, you probably—maybe—do to, so I definitely should be staying up late studying instead of writing. 

I can tutor you in Chemistry. But then we would have to meet in person! I don’t know if I could take such excitement just yet. 

Love, insomniac 

PS. It’s kind of you to be empathetic to your brother, but you should cut yourself some slack. It’s okay to dislike him.’ 

‘Dear insomniac,

If only I could keep these as short and sweet as you were able to. But no! the need to write and write and write enraptures me. 

You’re right, I don’t think you could take the excitement just yet. I am very dashing, you’d probably be awestruck that I had dared pay any attention to you. I’ll just ask my roommate to tutor me.

You know, when I first received your note, I thought you were him. I really did. But I don’t see you as a loud, courageous guy like him. I don’t mean that as an insult, just a—statement. 

I’m glad that you liked the poem. It was what got me into poetry in the first place. I was nine and had stolen a book from my father’s library. This thick, thick collection of poems. And it was the first one I had opened to. 

I spent the next two days reading the entire thing, and then every poetry book I could get my hands on. At first, my parents had been glad—I was distracted, and out of their way. But when they realised that I had been reading poetry instead of doing maths like they had told me to, I was completely banned from them. 

I had almost forgotten about the phase until  
I found the same book, the same as the one I had stolen as a nine year old, in the school library. It was like rediscovering magic. 

Love, Wall Person (not sweater)’ 

‘To my lovely Sweater (not Wall) Person, 

You’re right, I am sweet! But one thing you have gotten wrong—I am not short. No where near it. I’m no jack and the beanstalk giant (look at that literary reference, proud?), but I am certainly not short. 

Dashing? Who’s to say that you won’t be awestruck by me? My grandmother has said on multiple occasions, and I quote, that I am a ‘handsome young man.’ Who’s to dispute that? 

You’re 9 year old story is sweet. The maths thing reminds me of my parents. I was always to stay two years ahead of my school curriculum—I think they made me study at least 8 hours a day during the school holidays, until the doctor said that I should be getting more exercise. 

I hate your parents by the way. Whoever they are. I’ll make sure to glare them at the next school event where parents are invited. 

How’s the chemistry tutoring going? Y’know I also tutor a lot people in chemistry—who’s to say that I’m not your loud and courageous roommate? He sounds like a great guy. 

I wonder what you look like. Shorter than me, probably—I mean, statistically speaking. Tell me your hair colour and I’ll tell you mine. 

Love, the insomniac.’ 

...

During study period, Neil entered the library—in search of his penpal’s famous poetry book. 

John Keats, John Keats—he looked through the poetry section. There was a John Keats biography, with some extracts, but that probably wasn’t it. The slim, selected collection of his poems also did not match his sweater person’s descriptions. 

He had probably borrowed it out, if someone else hadn’t! Of course—why hadn’t thought if that. 

Defeated, Neil started walking to the exist when his eyes strayed to where they kept the old school yearbooks. 

Wasn’t Mr Keating Welton alumni? It could be interesting finding him. Maybe his library trip wasn’t in vain. 

... 

‘Dear my handsome, young insomniac, 

I have dark blonde hair. Happy? Now, I’d like to wager my own deal. I’ll tell you my eye colour if you stop calling me sweater person. 

It’s almost cute that you’re so defensive about your height—almost like how a short person would be... Now, I know that we may never reveal our true identity, but on the off chance we do, you shouldn’t lie about your physical characteristics. 

But don’t fret, I believe you. Tall, whatever that means. It’s a comparative adjective, so really you can only be tall in comparison against something. Statistically (if you truly are around my age), you’re probably taller than me. So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. 

The chemistry tutoring is going well. My roommate is a great guy, after all. I’m surprised that he gives me the time of day, who knows how many times I’ve made a fool of myself in front of him—but I’m nonetheless very grateful. 

8 hours sound extremely excessive. I know this school has quite the reputation of creating successful men, but we’re not robots for goodness sake! 

I hate your parents too, by the way. I’m not very intimidating, so any attempt at glaring will probably end in laughter—but I’ll make sure that they get the message, whoever they are. 

Also, I think—no, I am almost 100% sure that I have failed my trig exam. I don’t think I’m a complete failure at mathematics. At least, unlike Chemistry, you don’t have to memorise new concepts but just new patterns. But— 

It was like I had forgotten how to write my own name. I just sat there at my desk, staring at the paper, trying to remember what numbers are meant to look like. And when I had finally calmed down, we had only half an hour left. I missed the 5 mark question at the end. 

They’re not going to kick me out, are they? I would hate to be made to stop writing to you. 

Please send help, wall person.’ 

... 

The book rested on this desk, basked in light from the hallway. Neil picked it up, carefully opening it up in his hands. 5 Centuries of Verse.

This was it. This was exactly what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the letter-after-letter thing didn’t get boring, and that it wasn’t too confusing on who Neil was meant to be. I really do enjoy writing them, the notes.


End file.
